


Consecration

by zaphodsgirl



Series: Forgive Me, Father [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Domestic Fluff, M/M, Priest Castiel (Supernatural), Sexy Times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:08:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23736613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zaphodsgirl/pseuds/zaphodsgirl
Summary: Father Castiel steals away for his secret weekend at Dean's house.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Forgive Me, Father [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/828657
Comments: 23
Kudos: 80





	Consecration

**__**_Anticipation must be one of the divine punishments_ , Castiel thinks, as the Friday morning of his 'family' visit finally dawns. He knew that this day would seem as long as all the hours in the week preceding it combined, and he sighs heavily as he sits up in his single bed and pushes himself off the hard mattress. His spirits lift when he sees the small suitcase sitting by the door, packed and ready to go for appearance’s sake. He knows he'll have little use for most of its contents once he gets to his destination. If he wears any clothes at all this coming weekend, they will be Dean's: threadbare sweatpants washed into downy softness, well-loved sweatshirts fraying at the cuffs and the hem, all of them infused with the scent of their owner, of leather and grease and clean sweat and something elusive, something he craves but can’t quite name. 

He looks down at the plain white t-shirt and boxer shorts that he wore to bed last night, the type of thing he's worn to bed every night since he was a boy of fifteen, and thrills at the knowledge that he won't be wearing these tonight.

Eight hours. Eight hours is all he needs to get through before he can be on his way to Dean. The thought makes him smile to himself, until a glance at his daily planner reminds him that he has a funeral mass this morning. 

He hangs his head as he shuffles into the bathroom to get ready for the long day ahead.

It takes every ounce of discipline Castiel possesses not to run out of the rectory when the time finally arrives for him to leave. He forces himself to take measured steps, counting them silently in his head as his heels clack on the floor of the corridor like a metronome. He doesn't see anyone on his way out of the building to his car, but he feels like there are a dozen sets of eyes upon him peering through slitted blinds. It's not until he's behind the wheel that he realizes he's been holding his breath, and it whooshes out of him in a sharp exhale, bringing starry pinpricks of light behind his closed eyes for several seconds. 

_It's all in your imagination. No one knows what you're doing._

_What exactly_ are _you doing?_

That last voice is different, yet distinct in its disdain, as though his brother Michael is sitting in the passenger seat. Undeterred, he starts the engine and pulls into the street, leaving thoughts of his old family behind as he heads toward the only one that matters.

It takes just over twenty minutes for him to reach the long, winding dirt drive that leads through the salvage yard to the house at the back of the property, which he bypasses to park in the discreet spot Dean set up for him. He's barely out of the car and suddenly Dean is there, his body warm as it presses Castiel back against the cold metal of the car door as he kisses him. 

"Hi," Dean says with a grin, eyes alight as they finally break apart, the air between them so warm now that their breath no longer fogs. He leans in to place another soft kiss on Castiel's lips before releasing him. "Where's your bag?"

"Trunk." 

Dean waves Castiel's keys in front of his face with a smirk. He doesn't even remember them leaving his hand, and is still blinking in stunned silence when Dean slams the trunk and takes his hand to lead him to the house, carrying his nondescript piece of luggage in the other one. Castiel expects to be ravaged once they're inside the house -- it's Friday after all, and Fridays are always frantic and urgent -- but is instead surprised when Dean drops his hand as he closes the door. 

"Stay here," he instructs before leaving the room briefly, coming back without the suitcase and placing Castiel's car keys on the counter in their usual spot. "Let's get this coat off you." Castiel feels like a taut wire, vibrating in anticipation of the coming thrum, the play of fingers producing sounds he would never make of his own accord. Dean comes close, his hands finding their way to Castiel's hips, then sliding up over his ribs before moving to his pectoral muscles and then up over his shoulders to push the tan trench coat off his arms. Dean's hands slide all the way down to his wrists, then he snags the coat between two fingers before hanging it deftly on a nearby row of hooks. Castiel notices that Dean's jacket is already hanging there, and only then does he realize that Dean never put it on to come outside to meet him despite the chill bite in the afternoon air. He bites back an admonishment, secretly pleased at Dean's eagerness, though it's not at all on display now. Instead Dean seems intent to follow his usual Saturday ritual, pulling Castiel's shirt out of his pants and slowly unbuttoning it from the bottom to the top, pulling his collar free to place it beside the keys. He places a soft kiss on the side of Castiel's throat, then takes his hand.

"Let's take you upstairs and get you into something comfortable."

"I hope you mean your bed," Castiel says, still shocked by his own boldness, even after months of this. 

"Not just yet." Dean winks over his shoulder as they climb the stairs. "I have you all to myself this weekend, and all night to wear you out. First we're going to relax."

"Relax?" He can't keep the disappointment out of the word, and it's obvious that Dean picked up on it when he turns to Castiel inside the bedroom and cups his cheeks. 

"Cas, I've wanted this for a long time. You know that, right?"

"Then shouldn't we..." He reaches up to grasp Dean's wrists, pulling his hands away and trying to lead him to the bed. 

"I don't just mean that, Cas. I mean, yes, obviously _that_ but..." He sighs, hanging his head. "I fantasize about you all the time, but it's not always sexual, you know?"

Castiel says nothing, trying to process what Dean means. He knows that he often daydreams about Dean in different domestic scenarios, but it never occurred to him that he wasn't alone there. 

"What do you have in mind?" He tilts his head, genuinely curious. Dean shuffles his feet, the self-sure confidence he usually exhibits momentarily absent. _He's nervous_ , Castiel realizes, and it's so endearing that he can't help but lean in to place a tender kiss on his lips. "Why don't you tell me your plans while I change?" Dean smiles, his shoulders dropping as the tension releases from them, and it warms Castiel even as he shrugs out of his black button-down and plain white undershirt. 

"I, um, planned a movie marathon." Castiel pauses briefly before pulling a sweatshirt over his head, gesturing for Dean to continue as he sits on the bed to remove his shoes and socks. "I already made a lasagna for dinner, I just have to pop it in the oven."

"I admit this isn't exactly the scenario I'd imagined," Castiel says, quickly removing his pants.

"Right," Dean says softly. "I realize that's not why you come here." 

Castiel looks up sharply. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing." Dean shakes his head, but Castiel stands and takes his arms, pulling him closer. 

"Something. What did you mean?" He pulls Dean's arms around his waist, cupping his elbows. "Why do you think I come here?" 

"Come on Cas, I get it, okay? I'm giving you the only thing the church can't."

"Elaborate, please." Dean looks away, though he flattens his palms against Castiel's lower back, warm even through the material of the sweatshirt. 

"I know it's just a physical thing for you, that's all. If you don't want to play couple for the weekend that's fine, I know that's not what you signed up for."

It takes Castiel a moment to overcome his shock and form words. Usually Dean is full of confident swagger and Castiel follows his lead without question, but this, this vulnerable side of him, is somehow more compelling. He slides his hands up Dean's biceps and across his shoulders, letting one cup the back of his neck as the other slides into his hair, gently turning his head until they're facing one another.

"It's true that I have very...carnal intentions towards you," he begins, rewarded with just a hint of a smile at his turn of phrase. "But the thing I want, the thing the church can't give me, is the time we spend together. I love Fridays when you ravish me before I'm barely in the door." Dean's hands clutch at his shirt before sliding lower, palming his ass through the utilitarian boxer shorts he still wears. "I love Saturdays when we watch silly things on TV, and you make me dinner before you take me to bed." _I love you_ , he thinks, but cannot say. "I just thought, after I made you wait so long for this, that you'd be desperate to get started." 

"I definitely have a very high level of anticipation, believe me. So much so that..."

"That what?" Dean just stares at him, as if willing him to understand. "Are you _nervous_?" 

"A little? I just know you've wanted this for a while, we both have, and what if you're disappointed?"

"It doesn't mean I'll be disappointed with _you_ , Dean." He sighs, and leans in for a soft kiss. "I think your idea is great. I think we both need to wind down and relax. I just want to be with you, whatever we're doing." 

"Yeah?" Dean bites his lip, and Castiel marvels that such a gesture can be innocent and endearing. 

"Yes." He disentangles himself and turns to pick up the jeans left on the bed for him, an old pair of Dean's that are threadbare in the knees but washed so often they're as soft as a baby blanket. He can feel Dean watching as he slides them on, letting them hang on his hips where they're a little loose, then turns to take his hand and lead him back downstairs.

"What are we watching first?"

"Ocean's Eleven." 

"Shouldn't we start with the first one in the series?" 

Dean laughs and wraps an arm around his waist as they get to the bottom of the stairs. 

"Just trust me, Cas."

***

The nervous anticipation that has driven him all week slowly bleeds away as he sinks deeper into Dean's couch, drawn into the plot of the movie, the aroma of cheese and tomatoes slowly permeating the room until his stomach starts to rumble. 

"Don't move," Dean says, getting off the couch as the credits start to roll and heading out of the room. Castiel smiles to himself as he listens to the soundtrack from the kitchen: the hum of dinner being pulled from the oven, the swish and soft bang of cupboards being opened and closed again, the tinny notes of silverware being pulled from a drawer. He closes his eyes, wishing that this could be his life every day. 

_Maybe it could_.

It's an arresting thought, but one he dares not entertain. It's not as though he can move in with Dean; and despite anything he said earlier, playing house with your forbidden lover is bound to get old. He doesn't think that Dean will get bored with him, exactly, but the situation they're in isn't sustainable. Eventually Dean will get tired of having to hide, and being with Castiel doesn't afford the luxury of public outings. All this will end, he knows, probably bitterly so. 

"Wake up, food's here." Just in time to save him from his maudlin thoughts, and Castiel opens his eyes.

"I wasn't asleep." He sits up as Dean places a plate with a generous portion on the coffee table before him, along with a basket of garlic bread. "This looks wonderful."

"Two more minutes." He disappears again, returning with a fresh glass of soda for Castiel and one for himself, then ducks out one last time to grab his own plate. "I timed this so we could eat while we watch the second movie, because frankly it's the worst of the three."

"Then why are we watching it?"

"Because you need to have the complete experience, Cas." A look passes between them that speaks of more than the task at hand, of delayed gratification more comforting than the frenetic anticipation that harried him this last week. _It is a pleasure to burn,_ he thinks as he turns back to the screen. 

***

"Hey, are you sleeping?" 

After dinner and the second movie ended, Castiel had helped Dean clean up in the kitchen despite all his protests, and when they’d returned to the living room Dean had lain on the couch and patted the space in front of him. The only thing that had kept him awake was that the third movie was, in fact, a vast improvement over the second.

"It's hard not to. You dressed me comfortably, filled me with carbs, and started running your fingers through my hair. I'm either going to go to sleep or turn to liquid."

"Good, that's good. That's exactly how I want you. Think you can stand up?"

Castiel nods slightly before forcing himself into a sitting position, groaning as he stands and stretches languorously. Dean laughs lowly as he turns off the television, then takes Castiel by the elbow, hand sliding down to circle his wrist loosely, tugging him towards the staircase and turning off lights as they pass. He gestures for Castiel to go ahead of him, placing a hand lightly on his lower back for support until they reach the top, then grasps his hand again before he flicks off the light in the hallway. They’re plunged into darkness broken only by the ghost of lamplight coming out of the open bedroom door, a beacon leading to their final destination.

The door closes behind them, the latch clicking into the plate incredibly loud in the still silence. Dean turns Castiel to face him, hands moving to his hips, eyes boring into his. Castiel thought he'd be nervous in this moment, unsure, trepidatious, but those feelings are a distant memory. He feels like a mountain lake on a calm day, clear and still on the surface, but teeming with unseen things just below. 

Dean's eyes don't leave his, and Castiel reads the command in them. He grasps the back of the hoodie, pulling it over his head and off his arms, then dropping it on the floor at his side before he's walked slowly backwards. Dean doesn't look away as he kneels before Castiel, unbuttoning his fly and pulling down the zipper, all the encouragement the jeans need to slide down his legs and pool at his feet. Dean stands and presses a hand against his chest and Castiel sits on the mattress, leaning back on his hands. _Thou shalt have no other gods before me_ , he thinks, _but I do, oh Lord, and tonight I will frequently take your name in vain._

"What is it?" Dean asks, lightly tracing the slow smile on Castiel's lips with the tip of his finger before he shakes his head, and Dean doesn't press. "Lie back on the pillows, get comfortable." 

"Should I?" He pinches at the fabric of his boxers, an eyebrow raised in question.

"Leave them for now." 

Castiel obliges, moving himself backward to lie against the pillows as Dean watches. 

"You're overdressed." His own voice is dark, husky, and though he's not yet aroused there's something sensual in Dean's gaze that makes his skin hum. The slight chill in the room makes his nipples peak of their own accord, the hair on his chest and arms raise up, and he gives an involuntary shiver. "Come and warm me up."

Dean busies himself with the nightstand drawer first, pulling out several items before stretching out beside Castiel on the bed, tucking them under the pillow where he can find them again easily. Castiel turns on his side as Dean reaches for him, pulling them closer together. His hands rove over Castiel's bare skin, warming it wherever he touches, like slow coals banked for the night being whispered awake with a puff of air. Dean leans close, capturing Castiel's lips briefly, just enough to lick at the seam of them before he pulls back slightly.

"I'm going to take my time, get you good and open," he whispers, their lips brushing together softly at those words. "Don't fall asleep on me."

He pushes Castiel's shoulder gently until he's lying on his back, then grabs something from beneath the pillow before moving sinuously down the bed. _The serpent beguiled me_ , Castiel thinks, _and I did eat._ Dean's breath is warm as it fans across his ribs, then hovers just below his navel as Dean's thumbs move beneath the elastic of the boxers, rubbing the skin over his hips before circling underneath to palm at Castiel's ass. Dean lifts him slightly off the bed to pull the boxers out from beneath him, his hands moving slowly down Castiel's legs as he removes them and drops them off the edge of the bed, hands quickly returning to ankles and sliding back up to bend his knees and part his thighs.

"Want to see all of you, Cas."

Castiel's breath hitches and his member twitches, giving away his avid interest despite his stillness. Dean ignores that part of him for now to bite lightly at the inside of his thighs, though Castiel catches the slight smile on his face when his cock twitches again. 

He thought he would feel vulnerable in this moment, bared before Dean's gaze in so many ways, but instead he feels venerable, bewitching. He crooks one arm behind his head, leaning back onto the pillows to watch his worshipper, who winks at him before sucking on the pad of his thumb. Castiel holds his breath in anticipation but still jumps a little at the sensation when Dean touches his rim, just rubbing it in small circles, occasionally applying pressure. There's a small click, the only sound in the room besides their breathing, and Dean removes his thumb just long enough to squeeze lube onto his fingers, rubbing them together and then, with a devilish grin, drizzling some over Castiel's tight opening. He gasps slightly at the cold but it doesn't last long before a finger starts massaging it over the muscle, pressing harder than before as it circles but still not quite seeking entry. 

He's semi-hard now just from the attention, and Dean seems to finally take interest in his slowly filling member, repositioning himself to take the soft head in his mouth and suckle on it gently before using his tongue along the length of the shaft. Castiel finally breaks their stare, head pressing back into the pillow as his eyes close with a groan when the tip of one finger breaches him. He knows from experience how good Dean is with his lips and his tongue, and it doesn't take long for him to use both to bring Castiel fully hard and weeping, his hole now desperately trying to clench around the tip of that finger the only just enters and leaves, enters and leaves, over and over.

Castiel is already on the cusp of begging when Dean shifts, and suddenly his cock is hitting the back of that hot, wet throat at the same time as one slick finger is thrust all the way inside him to the last knuckle. He cries out in a long, strangled moan that sounds like the guttural expression of a name before managing to open his eyes and look down to where Dean has those sensual lips around his cock, sucking him hard and slow while simultaneously thrusting that single finger in and out of him with the same rhythm.

"Jesus Christ," he manages to say, and is startled when Dean chokes in a way that sounds like laughter before resuming his steady pace. It's too slow to bring him to the edge but the sensation is incredible, and he barely registers the click of the lube again before a second finger joins the first. This one stings slightly, and he tenses a bit as Dean works it into him, twisting both fingers as he goes, flicking his tongue across Castiel's slit on the upstroke to distract him from the discomfort.

Castiel is a mass of sensation below the waist, every nerve ending at attention, and Dean doesn't relent until he's three fingers deep and Castiel is helplessly thrusting into his mouth and then down against his fingers, hands twisting in the sheets and skin damp with a sheen of sweat. He has left begging far behind, chanting a litany of "Dean, please, Dean, please, Dean, _please_ ," hosannah to his own personal god in this moment and all to come after, forever and ever, amen. 

Dean sits up on his knees, letting Castiel's cock fall from his lips to slap against his own stomach, wet and glistening and red. 

"God, you are so gorgeous like this," he says, his voice ragged from his efforts, steadying himself with a hand on one of Castiel's knees before looking down to watch the plunge of his own fingers inside him. "It's so hard not to just finish you off, massage that special spot for you until you come all over yourself, Christ." Castiel whimpers, because suddenly he wants that very much, anything to get him off this ledge. "Another night, but not this one. Tonight I want you to come on my cock, Cas." 

He keeps those fingers working as he reaches for something, and Castiel has enough presence of mind to realize it's a condom. He grabs Dean's wrist.

"No. Don't."

"But..."

"I don't want anything between us Dean, please. Just you."

A pause, a hanging moment where he thinks he's overstepped, asked for too much, will be refused but then...

"Yeah," Dean says breathlessly. "Yeah, okay. Whatever you want."

"I just want you."

"Castiel." His full name for once, solemn and reverent. "You have me. You always have."

"Show me."

Dean drops the condom and slowly removes his fingers from Castiel's opening, the muscle clenching at the loss. 

"Turn on your side for me." Dean helps maneuver his languid and heavy limbs into position, top leg slightly bent, and Castiel looks over his shoulder to watch as Dean slicks his own cock with lubricant, wondering idly when he'd removed his boxers. Dean stretches out, one arm snaking beneath Castiel's neck to place a hand on his chest, grounding him in place as he leans in to whisper hotly in his ear. "Ready?"

His only response is to reach back and clutch at Dean's hip, pulling him closer and then he feels it, the breach of Dean's cock in his ass and he can't help but moan. It's too much and not enough all at once, and he tries to push back but Dean's other hand on his thigh keeps him in place as he slowly, so slowly, slides the full length of his cock into Castiel until it reaches the hilt, then drags back out again just as slowly.

"You feel so good, Cas." He's being filled again, and Dean sucks lightly on his earlobe. "So tight around me. Wanted you like this for so long."

"Dean, please." He manages to say it only once this time, too focused on the feeling of Dean nearly pulling out of him only to reverse course and fill him again. "Faster, _please_." 

Dean hums but obliges, if only fractionally so at first. The position is too awkward to let him move as quickly as Castiel wants and that's clearly, frustratingly, by design. The hand on his thigh moves to reposition him just enough for Dean to cup his balls, one finger moving beneath to press against his perineum, and Castiel can't help but whimper again before he pulls together enough coherency to form words.

"Dean Winchester," he finally says sharply, and that slow, tortuous slide stutters to a stop. "If you don't fuck me properly you never will again, I swear it."

Dean's breath exhales hot against his ear before he buries his face in Castiel's neck. "It's so hot when you're bossy," he says before he rolls onto Castiel, pressing him into the mattress on his stomach and doing exactly as he was told. 

"Oh god, _yes_ ," Castiel hisses through his teeth as Dean works above him, plunging into him faster, tugging on his rim with every outward thrust and forcing Castiel's own hard cock to rub against the blanket with every downward movement. There was never any fantasy he ever dreamed that could compare to this, to having Dean in and around him and owning him so completely. Dean covers Castiel's hands with his own, twining their fingers together and curling them into fists. 

"Is this what you want," he asks huskily, his increased pace making him short of breath, unable to use the proper inflection to form it as a question. Castiel keens in response, turning his head to the side so he can watch the frenetic movement of their bodies, slick with sweat and glistening in the light of the lamp. 

"Dean," Castiel manages to choke out, unable to do anything but lie there and let himself be possessed, body and soul. He can feel every glorious inch of Dean's cock massaging his inner walls and the sensation is incredible, full and tingling and desperate. "More, please, _please_." He can't articulate what he wants but Dean seems to understand. He pauses just long enough to pull Castiel to his knees, using one arm across his chest to keep him in place as he thrusts up into him, this time the angle just right, hitting him inside in the perfect spot as Dean's other arm wraps around his hip to take him in hand. 

Castiel reaches behind to clutch at Dean's hips, wanting him close, wanting him deeper, his head falling back against Dean's shoulder in helpless ecstasy.

"I'm, I'm going to," he tries to say but can't get out the words, and when Dean licks a hot stripe up the side of his throat Castiel comes all over his hand with a desperate wail. 

"Fuck, fuck," Dean chokes out, his hips stuttering as he comes. His hand continues to work Castiel through his own orgasm until they collapse to the bed on their sides, still somehow joined together. Neither of them speak for several minutes as they try to catch their breath. Dean's arm is still tight across his chest, pillowing his head, while the other hand is pressed against his stomach, possessive. He can feel Dean breathing against the nape of his neck, nuzzling into his hair as he softens and finally slips out.

***

Early morning light is filtering through the curtains, painting all the surfaces of the room in shades of dappled grey. Castiel is briefly perplexed by his surroundings before the events of the night return to him and he recognizes the shape of Dean's bedroom, the feel of him warm against Castiel's back with an arm curled around his waist.

"Oh, I see," he murmurs to himself, covering the hand over his stomach with his own. This is the missing piece, the thing he didn't even know he'd been craving ever since the first time Dean kissed him -- this feeling of security and safety, of caring, the sensation of being in the only place where everything feels more real than anywhere else. The elusive perception of _home_.

He lies there in silent contemplation as the world wakes up outside, listening to the soft rasp of his sleeping lover's breath, wondering how he's ever supposed to go back to living a life without this, without Dean, in it. 

A slow smile on the nape of his neck lets Castiel know Dean is awake before he even moves, and then only to pull his arm around Castiel tighter, brush his lips against the shell of his ear and let out a soft sigh into the crook of his neck.

"Good morning. How do you feel?"

"Awestruck."

"Mm. I meant physically, but I like the sound of that, too."

"I don't know. I guess I'll find out when I try to leave this bed."

"Well, that won't be for a while yet."

"Oh?" 

"Oh. You are going to stay right here, and I'm going to go and make breakfast."

"But don't I have to get out of the bed to come to where the breakfast is?"

"Not today. Today is for you never leaving this bed. I'm going to make us breakfast, and then we're going to get warm and cozy and watch movies on my laptop, and occasionally there will be intermissions."

"Intermissions with emissions?"

Dean laughs lowly, and Castiel turns on his back to grin up at him, pleased at the sparkle in those green eyes that this morning is solely for him. 

_I have failed as your servant, dear God, but surely there is no sin in such a smile as this_.

"Pancakes or waffles? Actually, I think you need eggs and bacon to restore your strength. You nearly passed out in the shower last night and I had to practically carry you to the bed."

"I hope you've planned a hearty lunch as well, then."

"God, you're so sexy when you're saucy." Dean rolls out of the bed, tucking the remaining blankets around Castiel before he fishes around on the floor to pull on the white boxer shorts and the sweatshirt he'd been wearing the day before. 

Castiel listens to him moving around in the kitchen, feeling soft and sated, and wonders if this is what it feels like to be loved. 


End file.
